THE MAHABHARATA: A Modern Rendering, Vol 2 (61 page)

As a flame blazes brightest just before it dies, so, too, does Drona on Kurukshetra. He fights more splendidly than ever, like a man of twenty. It is as if hearing his son is dead and seeing the rishis of Devaloka and his father have only made him more determined. He burns the Pandava army with astras, like a field of straw. He consumes twenty-four thousand kshatriyas; and, dissatisfied, rages on.

Once more, the terrible brahmana takes up the brahmastra. Dhrishtadyumna stands helpless on the ground, with no chariot and no means to contain the Kaurava Senapati. Then Bheema rides up like the wind, spirits him into his ratha and they attack Drona together. Fighting side by side, they cut down many of his missiles; but they can hardly put out the conflagration he is. Having beaten back the Kauravas on one flank, Satyaki rides up and he, too, turns his bow on Drona: not the three of them are enough to subdue him.

In disgust, Bheema leaps down from his chariot. Throwing caution to the winds, he runs to his old guru. He seizes Drona’s chariot horses by their bridles, bringing them up. Drona pauses his hellish archery; he turns glowering to the lion that dares accost him. Bheema roars, “It is when the brahmana abandons his natural dharma that kshatriya kind is destroyed! The brahmana is meant to be gentle and compassionate, a home of all the virtues. You were born a brahmana, Drona, but you have become a butcher. You have strayed from your dharma and you have lost your mind. All the thousands you kill are kshatriyas, fighting as they were born to. But you were not born to this, which is why you burn helpless footsoldiers with devastras.

I know what turns your head, Brahmana. It is the gold Duryodhana gives you, isn’t it? But what will you do with all that wealth, Drona, when your son for whom you want it is dead? Murderer, how much you preached dharma to us when we were children. Is this that dharma you show us now?”

Bheema spits on the ground in contempt, turns his back on his guru and walks away fearlessly. His every word has struck Drona like an arrow. With his childlike directness, this pupil of his always had the power to wound his master. For he always spoke the truth, frankly and without blandishment. Now, Bheema’s words push his Acharya over the edge, at which he already teetered. With a long roar, Drona flings his bow from him. The war pauses.

Drona cries in a ringing voice, “Karna, Duryodhana, Kripa: hear me! I will not fight any more. Drona’s war has ended, the rest is left to you.”

Drona sits on the floor of his chariot; he crosses his legs in padmasana. He shuts his eyes and yokes his spirit; in moments, he is lost to the battlefield around him, to the very world. Sunk in yoga, the brahmana journeys back on his anguish to the wellsprings of the eternal atman. Ancestral memory opens like a sacred flower in him. In relief, in gratitude, in joy, Drona discovers himself again.

Dhrishtadyumna sees him like that. Sword in hand, he leaps down from Bheema’s chariot and runs at Drona. Arjuna watches him. Seeing that Drona was again their old guru whom they loved and worshipped once, the one who taught them so much, the Pandava cries, “Don’t kill him, Dhrishtadyumna! Take him alive, don’t kill him!”

But he cries in vain to a kshatriya whose father and sons Drona has killed. The Panchala springs lightly on to Drona’s chariot. With a swing of his sword, he hews his Acharya’s head from his neck in a blast of blood. Drona never opens his eyes; perhaps, he never knows when the sword-stroke ends his life. When the head is struck off, a blinding light, of a soul, issues from the naked throat and, pulsing and awesome, rises into heaven, lighting up the sky as it goes. In the subtle akasa above, the immortal rishis are still waiting for the brahmana. Drona walks among them now. He attains Brahmaloka, a realm that the devas hardly know
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Sanjaya, who has been blessed with mystic sight, sees the ascent of Drona’s spirit. Besides him, just Kripa, Krishna and Yudhishtira see it. The rest of the field only sees how brutally Dhrishtadyumna hacks off Drona’s head and stands drenched in his Acharya’s blood. The Panchala picks up that head and leaps down from the gory chariot. With a roar, he flings it on the ground and stands smiling and panting, while the cheering Pandava soldiers throng him. The Pandava Senapati has killed the Kau-rava Senapati. He has accomplished the impossible task for which he was born! But his father Dru-pada is not alive to see his son fulfil his destiny.

Bheema is the first to run up to Dhrishtadyumna and enfold him in a great embrace. Unmindful of the blood he is covered in, the blood of his master, Bheema roars, “You have kept your oath! I will hug you like this again when the sutaputra dies; and once more, when Duryodhana is killed.” Kurukshetra is alight with the news.

THIRTY-ONE
RECRIMINATIONS 

At first, Duryodhana will not believe the news that streaks across Kurukshetra. The cry ‘Drona is dead!’ echoes everywhere and Kaurava soldiers run headlong from the field. Dropping their weapons, some peeling off their armor in terror, they fly on foot, on horseback and in their chariots. Even Karna, Shalya and Kripa flee.

When Duryodhana realizes the news is no empty rumor, his howl rings across the field, dismally. Again and again, he cries out his grief, his abysmal defeat; he cries out as if Dhrishtadyumna has hacked another limb from his body. Drona was the Kaurava’s great hope and hope had flared up when he saw how his master incinerated the Pandava army. He had been convinced the war would end before dusk and victory would be his. But now…ah, how could a man who fought so luminously just moments ago, have laid down his bow and allowed Dhrishtadyumna to lop off his head? It would have been more likely that the ocean dried up, or that Meru stood on his crown. Then, through the panic, the story of how the Pandavas deceived Drona filters. Gripped by the mood of his army, Dury-odhana also turns his horses and dashes from battle.

Suddenly, ahead of him he hears a voice that brings him up short, “Duryodhana, what happened? Karna, you look as if the war is already lost! Who is dead that you panic like this? How can you run from the field, when Drona is your Senapati?”

Duryodhana stands mute. Aswatthama cries again, “Tell me, who died?”

Not for a moment does any suspicion of the truth cross his mind. His father is invincible; who can kill Drona? Duryodhana turns imploringly to Kripa and says in a whisper, “I beg you, Acharya, tell him. I cannot.”

Gently, Kripa breaks the news to Aswatthama. He tells him how the Pandavas lied to Drona, how even Yudhishtira lied. He tells the son how his father laid down his weapons and yoked himself in dhyana. Finally, he tells him how Dhrishtadyumna leapt on to Drona’s chariot and struck off his head. Aswatthama grows very still; for a moment, it seems he has turned to stone. But his eyes are terrible and a ripple of fear shimmers through the Kaurava legions when they sense his fury.

He does not break down, he doesn’t even cry. Quietly, he says, “There was no other way they could have killed him and they will die for what they have done. War is a fearsome thing, that it can make even Yudhishtira abandon dharma. I could have borne his death, if my father had been killed honorably. This is intolerable. Drona is in Devaloka now, because he died a hero’s death; but those who killed him shall find hell before the sun sets today. Dhrishtadyumna will not live, nor Yudhishtira.

Now he raises his voice, so all the army hears him. “Duryodhana, I have an astra that not Arjuna, Krishna, Bheema or Yudhishtira will resist. It is a weapon never used against common soldiers and I did not summon it. Vishnu himself once gave my father the narayanastra and Drona gave it to me. In this world, only I have that ayudha and I mean to avenge my father with it today. Duryodhana, my friend, let us return to battle. I will make you lord of the earth in a few moments!”

The Kaurava legions rally round Aswatthama. Conches resound, horns are blown, drums beaten and Duryodhana’s army wheels into battle again. Across Kurukshetra, the celebrating Pandavas hear the conches and horns. They see the cloud of dust where the Kaurava chariots, horses and footsoldiers surge toward them again. Above the rest of the distant din, they hear one voice roaring.

Standing among his brothers, Yudhishtira says, “A moment ago they fled in terror and now they have turned around and come back to fight. Fresh hope stirs them and I hear one voice raised like a tiger’s above every other. Whose is it?”

Arjuna says grimly, “It is Aswatthama coming to avenge his father. Yudhishtira, you lied to have our guru’s life; now who will save us from his son? Aswatthama was born by Siva’s blessing; no one can save you from him, Dhrishtadyumna. I was not for it, Yudhishtira: what we did was adharma and we will pay for it with our lives. For greed of a kingdom, my brother, you told the lie that killed our master. It would have been better to abandon the war, than do this shameful thing. Our sin is three-fold: of killing a brahmana, an elder who loved us like a father and a guru. We have forsaken the truth and now we will die!”

Arjuna stands trembling, as a stunned silence follows his outburst. Then, his eyes turning red in a moment, Bheema growls, “Such fine words, Arjuna! You speak like a vaanaprastha who has renounced the world. But I don’t like what you say. Are you a brahmana that you speak like this? You are Arjuna, who can subdue the earth with your astras! Then why do you talk like a priest, whose only glory is his humility? You disgust me. And how dare you accuse Yudhishtira of adharma? Answer me!

Bheema’s reaction is so ferocious that Arjuna is taken aback. He stands confused and makes no reply. Bheema has not finished, “Aren’t we here to fight a war? Were we not cheated and humiliated? Was all that was done to us dharma? When we were exiled, when that animal dragged Draupadi into the Kuru sabha and tried to strip her? Answer me, Arjuna! Didn’t you once say that we must fight to avenge ourselves? And now you whine about dharma to our brother: to Yudhishtira who spent thirteen years like a beggar for dharma’s sake! Yudhishtira, emperor of the earth, who lived like a common courtier in Virata’s palace and did not protest when that king flung his dice at him as if he was his slave. Answer me, Arjuna!” roars Bheema.

“Wasn’t it dharma for which Yudhishtira agreed to take five towns from Duryodhana, to sue for peace? And this is the man you accuse of being greedy for a kingdom and of killing his guru with treachery. Are you blind that you didn’t see how Drona burnt our legions with his astras? Are you witless, that the great Arjuna does not realize how all we have suffered and everything we have fought for would have been in vain, if Drona was not killed? You have courage to stand there and accuse Yudhishtira!

Abhimanyu was killed by treachery and most of those responsible are still alive. Karna humiliated me on the field and he still lives. And suddenly, instead of doing what he is meant to, fighting the war, here is Arjuna preaching dharma to his older brother. And singing Aswatthama’s praises. ‘He was born by Siva’s blessing. Who can save us from him?’ I say to you, Bheema will smash Aswatthama down with his mace!

Arjuna, you have gone too far today. You have insulted the one who drives your chariot. Look where he stands, smiling so tolerantly. He is the Lord! He asked Yudhishtira to lie to Drona. Who are you that you know more about dharma than Krishna does? You are a kshatriya, a warrior. Just that. It would be better if you left matters of dharma to those who really know about these things. You are no rishi, brother: remember that before you preach to your betters!”

Still glowering, Bheema falls silent. With a cry, Yudhishtira embraces him.

Dhrishtadyumna bristles, “Arjuna, you say that I killed a brahmana. How was Drona a brahmana any more? Do you know what a brahmana is, that you preach to me? He must perform yagnas, he must be a teacher and always a student as well. How was Drona a brahmana? He taught, but no Veda. He studied, but not the Shastras. And what was the yagna he performed? He sacrificed a million lives in the flames of his astras! And for whom was this offering? For no God, Arjuna, but for a demon called Duryodhana. Why, even as a warrior, Drona was an adharmi. Who else would use the devastras against ordinary soldiers? He was bloodthirsty, arrogant and merciless.

Besides, we all know I was born to kill him. Didn’t we come here to fight a war? Haven’t I been following Drona like his shadow, for fifteen days? Didn’t you know that I meant to kill him? Now that I have, you blame me, instead of embracing me in joy that I have rid you of your most powerful enemy. This is strange indeed, Arjuna!

If you speak of dharma, tell me, did you kill Jayadratha in perfect dharma? Wasn’t the sun hidden before you cut away his head? Or is that not deceit, because Arjuna is the one whom it helped? You killed Jayadratha because you lost one son. Drona killed my father, my brothers and all my sons. I have avenged myself on a murderer and I feel no remorse. I have saved the lives of thousands of men whom the demented brahmana would have made ashes with his astras. And I swear I am the happiest man alive!”

Arjuna makes no reply and Dhrishtadyumna rages on, “You say a kshatriya should not kill an elder. Wasn’t Bhagadatta an elder, wasn’t he your father Pandu’s friend? You say a kshatriya shouldn’t kill his guru, or someone who is like a father to him. What about Bheeshma? I did not see your hand falter at your bowstring, when Bheeshma laid his weapons down. Or, perhaps, he wasn’t your Pitama and far more a father to you than the wretched Drona? So what are you saying? That if Arjuna kills an elder that is no sin, but if Dhrishtadyumna does, it is.” Dhrishtadyumna cries, “Drau-padi is my sister and her sons are my nephews. Or I swear I would kill you for what you have dared say to me today!”